


The Tear In My Heart, I'm Alive

by RoseWinterborn



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, THEN THIS IS FOR YOU, ever wondered what kind of gem tattoo molly would get?, only the chaos crew and molly apear in fic, the rest are mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseWinterborn/pseuds/RoseWinterborn
Summary: Even after months, the sight of the scar was enough to put him off-balance. But here, now, he had...an inkling of an idea, to quell it’s power over him. The faintest seed of one, turning over and over with his turbulent thoughts.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	The Tear In My Heart, I'm Alive

Jester was a whir of excitement as they shopped for gems. Talking almost too fast to be understood, picking through displays of stones to find only the best diamonds for her tattoo. Beau was quieter, but there was a gleeful intensity in her gaze as she turned over pieces of jade to add to her store.

Molly hadn’t thought he’d be the quiet one, nor Nott, but they were indeed reserved as they searched for a pool of aquamarine large enough to share. 

“You’re quiet,” Nott said finally, pushing a large crystal his way. “Would have thought you’d be excited for a new tattoo.”

“I am,” Molly protested, but couldn’t find anything to add. Truth be told, he felt a bit scattered. He had a plan for the crystal tattoo, but that wasn’t what troubled him. Absently, he pressed his fingertips to the knotted scar in his sternum. It was thicker than the rest, brighter, newer, and on bad nights he could still hear the crack of the bone beneath it, feel the pain of the glaive sinking into his heart, see the world dimming as the blade  _ twisted-- _

Even after months, the sight of it was enough to put him off-balance. But here, now, he had...an  _ inkling _ of an idea, to quell it’s power over him. The faintest seed of one, turning over and over with his turbulent thoughts. 

Small green fingers closed over his, and red eyes met yellow over the tray of gems. “I understand,” Nott said, gently. Molly quirked his mouth wryly. Better than anyone else, she probably did. Privately, he didn’t think her new skin was too terribly hideous, but he knew she wouldn’t accept that. Perhaps this would be the first step of her making the body truly hers. 

Molly squeezed her hand and took the gem she’d pushed his way, adding it to his pile. 

Behind the four of them, the jeweler watched them with something between bewilderment and abject horror. 

***

It takes every aquamarine in Nicodranas and a trip to Yussa’s to pick through the dragon’s hoard (Molly insisted on paying him back from the platinum they’d received earlier, and couldn’t bring himself to miss the weight of the coin as they left the tower) before they had enough gemstone dust to take back to Orly at the pier. 

The tortle warned them early on that it was going to hurt. Molly took that in stride, and pried open one of the bottles of shit wine he’d bought on their way to the boat. He knew he could have found better, but it seemed more fitting to drink cheap booze on the deck of the Balleater while they were inked than something more refined. 

Nott went first, and Molly winced as Orly turned the needle towards her eyes. Of all the places to get a tattoo…

He graciously looked away after Nott passed out, listening to Jester chatter animatedly and wave about the sketch she’d drawn in her book.

Jester went next when Nott woke up, eyes puffy and skin discolored around the whirling filigree of her tattoo. They all shared a laugh at the sheer definition of Jester’s muscles; beside him, he felt more than saw Beau’s interest, and caught her eye with a sly grin.

She punched him in the shoulder while Jester’s back was turned, and the ensuing numbness was worth it. 

Jester passed out in the chair as well, and that was when Molly started to worry a bit. They snickered as Beau held Jester’s head up for Orly to work, and Molly bit his tongue against any clever remarks he might have made about the way Beau’s thumbs stroked across Jester’s temples, through her fine blue hair. 

The sun had set when Jester woke, chest and shoulders glimmering with her love letter to the Traveler. She groaned with pain, but Molly could see the pleased gleam in her eyes as she took in the design that graced her collarbone, the clasped hands over her heart. 

“I’ll flip you for next,” Beau grunted, holding out a platinum piece. Molly waved her off. 

“You’ll want to get this over with,” he said, grinning. “Your first, and all. Your ink virginity.”

She made a face at him. “Gross, dude.”

Molly’s grin widened, and she shuddered dramatically, rolling her eyes. “Hey man, give me your deck.”

Molly coughed on his wine, laughing. “My  _ what?” _

“Your--your  _ tarot deck,  _ you sick bastard. By all the fucking gods…”

Still wheezing, Molly dug his cards out of his coat and handed them over, confused as Beau flipped through them. Finally, she found the one she was looking for and took it to Orly, making her request. 

Molly saw the card where Orly placed it to the side, and his chest held a funny sort of ache. It was his tattoo, the eye on the back of his neck. He met Beau’s eyes over the back of the chair and there was an openness there that he only rarely saw. The last time he’d seen her eyes that unguarded had been the moment he’d spoken her name, fresh from his grave. 

Molly looked away, blinking. 

Beau passed out in the chair. 

Now that Jester and Nott were sore and quiet, he had nothing to distract him from the rushing of his thoughts. He watched the moon climb the sky over the sea, and sank deeper into the bottle, his idea growing bolder, more colorful. 

Beau came to abruptly as Orly set the needle aside, and Jester and Nott were there to give her exuberant thumbs-up. Molly was slower to approach, telling himself he would  _ not  _ get choked up over Beau’s tattoo. The wine told him of course not; the ache in his chest told him he was a liar. 

It was a beautiful tattoo. Better than his, but he’d gotten his from a fellow carnie so he couldn’t be too surprised. He studied the sweep of the design through his tears, forced a smile when Beau looked up for his approval. 

“It’s lovely, darling,” he choked out. “Suits you.”

“Probably not as much as it suits you,” she muttered, elbowing him in the gut. Gently, for Beau. Molly couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“Your turn, Molly!” Nott announced. 

Molly raised his eyebrows at the tortle. “You good for one more?”

“I think I’ve got one m-m-more in me,” Orly rumbled. Molly nodded and set aside his drink. He reached into his coat for the aquamarine dust and handed it over, then stripped to the waist.

“What can I do for you, M-m-m-mister Tealeaf?”

Molly gestured towards the spray of peacock feathers on his ribs and chest and neck. “Some touch-ups, if you would, please, Mister Skiffback,” Molly said, forcedly cheerful. “I think my plume could use some gilding.”

“Was that an innuendo?” Beau demanded.

“Only if you want it to be, darling,” Molly said, batting his eyes. Beau gagged, while Jester cackled gleefully in the background. 

Orly was right about the pain, but Molly gritted his teeth against it and fixed his eyes on the moon overhead. She shone on him softly, the cool sweep of her light reassuring against the dark backdrop of the sky, like a lover’s caress against his skin. Molly listened to the grinding of Orly’s machine, to the slap of the waves against the ship, to the sound of his own breath forced evenly in and out of his lungs. Tears rose to his eyes once more, his measured breaths caught in his throat for a moment as he closed his eyes. The girls had dozed off, leaving him and Orly alone with the ink between them. 

“Doin’ m-much better than your friends,” Orly said quietly. 

Molly laughed softly. “It’s not the tattoo.” His hand rose unbidden to his chest, palm pressed against his skin as if he could press the mottled scar back into his ribs. 

“That one new or old?” the tortle asked.

Molly paused, unsure. The wound was old. Almost a year, now, since the Nein had pulled him from his frozen grave on the way back to Zadash. He’d been dead only five days before Caduceus’s hands had reached for him in the earth, meaning to give him over to the Wildmother and instead breathing life back into him. But it felt new each time he saw it, each time the warped flesh entered his vision and he had to force himself to look away. 

“Somewhere in between,” he said finally. “I, uh. Have another tattoo in mind, if you have time in the morning? I’ll need to run some errands first.”

“”It’d be my-y pleasure,” Orly replied.

“Thank you,” Molly murmured. Then he turned his gaze back to the moon and let her watchful eye soothe him.

***

Molly rose, uncharacteristically, with the sun, extricating himself from the Mighty Nein dogpile below deck. Orly was awake already and watching the sun come up as he readied his tools again, and Molly gave him a wave as he disembarked, off to find a jeweler they hadn’t traumatized yet. His new tattoo burned, but it also glittered in the sunlight, and Molly preened a bit as he walked the waking streets of Nicodranas. 

He visited the jeweler from the night before, who watched him warily as Molly requested what he needed. It was a matter of an hour before he had what he needed, a pouch of glittering powder to take back to Orly on the ship. 

The tortle was waiting for him, the morning still early enough that the rest of the Nein had yet to stir after their adventures in the happy fun ball. Molly handed over the gem dust, and told Orly what he wanted. 

His heart climbed his throat while Orly readied his needle. Molly forced himself to study his scar, one last time. To take in the gnarled shape of it against his violet skin. He traced it with his fingers, wincing at the curious numbness of it, and exhaled slowly.

“Ready?” Orly asked finally, and Molly nodded. He watched Orly put needle to flesh, and as the pain of the tattoo process took over, his trepidation melted. 

Molly leaned his head against the back of the chair, and watched the gold of the sunrise fade out into the blue of sea and sky. 

***

Jester was the first to awaken, as usual, and thus the first to see the nearly finished tattoo. It was a big piece, and intricate; Molly had been in the chair for hours as the sun climbed the sky overhead; he could honestly feel a bit of a sunburn staining his cheeks and bare chest, which he was sure could only improve the healing process. 

“Oh, Molly, it’s so pretty!” Jester cooed. “What do they mean?”

Molly smiled thinly, suddenly bashful. It was an unusual--and  _ unwelcome-- _ feeling. He reached for Jester’s hand, squeezed it tight. “You,” he croaked. “All of you.”

By the time the Mighty Nein rose to partake of Orly’s home-cooked breakfast, Molly had replaced his coat over his shoulders but left his chest bare to let his new ink breathe. Jester sat beside him, sketching busily, her morning tea forgotten on the table as she sketched Molly’s tattoo into her journal for the Traveller to see.

It was a bouquet, resplendent as it spilled across his chest. Each bloom glittered faintly at the edges with the dust of a different stone, not enough to have power but enough to make them stand out, as they deserved. 

Borage fanning out on the right, bold and blue, for Beau’s courage, and lined with sapphire. 

Orange clematis climbing his right ribs like a ladder and glittering with fire opal, for Caleb’s cleverness and warmth. 

Spears of deep purple gladiolus blooming under the sun on his right shoulder and glittering with aquamarine, for Fjord’s conviction and strength of character. 

Beside that, delphinium for Jester, pale blue for her levity, glittering with black sapphire. 

Pink protea for Nott, bold and sharp and resourceful, the leaves tipped in emerald. 

Vervain for Caduceus, a spray of tiny pink-purple blooms, cheerful and protective, with stems of jade. 

Forget-me-nots for Yasha, of course, as if he could have chosen anything else in the absence of her, the tiny flowers inked in diamond. 

Daffodil in the center, for his penchant for coming back like a bad copper, their yellow color bright and warm, petals tipped in amethyst. 

And finally, nestled around his daffodils and shimmering faintly ruby red, a wreath of yellow and white alstroemeria, for friendship, and the fortune he’d found with the Mighty Nein. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If fanfiction isn't for indulgent amount of tattoo symbolism then I don't know what it is for. 
> 
> And they obviously stayed for the breakfast Orly made because what they did in canon was just rude.


End file.
